


It's Never Twins

by jadztone



Series: Sherlock Nanowrimo [1]
Category: Orphan Black (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clones, Crossover, Gen, orphan black post-s4, sherlock post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Sherlock and John have a new client who discovered a woman that looks exactly like her, but every attempt she's made to find out more about her has been mysteriously thwarted.





	It's Never Twins

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of stories I wrote for Nanowrimo and posted on my tumbler page, sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com. I was doing a story a day, generally leaving them open-ended if I wanted to add on to the story later in the month. The ones that I did add on to will be posted on AO3 as multiple chapters. They will all be posted as complete, with no expectation that I will ever revisit them. I haven't changed them from the way they were posted on tumblr, they have their issues, but I like to think of them as diamonds in the rough. The stories contain multiple crossovers with other fandoms, and multiple ships.

Sherlock walked into the flat at 221B Baker Street and saw John sitting in his usual chair, a woman seated across from him in the usual client chair.  They were sipping tea and hadn’t noticed Sherlock come in.  Why would they?  He had slipped in as quietly as possible because he knew there was a stranger in the flat.  He’d heard their voices and since John wasn’t currently seeing anyone, it was likely a potential client.  He wanted to witness what he could in terms of the person’s behavior before they realized his presence and put up their usual mask.  Whoever it was would already have the social mask on for John’s benefit, but John usually put people at ease so it was sure to be slipping by this point… It was most likely 12 minutes into the interview given the lively timbre of John’s voice.  It usually took him that long to really get going into a story. Yes, the mask would be slipping and Sherlock knew that once he entered and the woman saw him, the mask would go right back into place.  There would also be the added layer of defensiveness that people put on when he was around because they didn’t like that they needed to ask help of an antisocial genius.  

The woman was petite, had straight blonde hair cut into a neat bob, and was wearing a lavender twinset accented with daisies, tan trousers, and sensible brown flats.  She had a small diamond ring on her left ring finger, her nails were manicured and cut short.  At first glance she seemed to want to emphasize that she was simply a wife and mother living in the suburbs, but there were other layers to her.  Instead of fading into the background as her clothes suggested might be her preference, she in fact had a very compelling personality.  Sherlock knew this because John clearly thought so, going by the way he was positioned with legs opened and elbows on his knees, leaning forward and gazing into her eyes.  John always noticed a pretty face, but it took more to captivate him.  He was attracted to liveliness, like that doctor whose name Sherlock can never remember, with the ginger hair and eyes that danced when they weren’t wide with terror over her life being threatened.  Also sophisticated, confident women like Mycroft’s assistant, whose name Sherlock also couldn’t remember.  

Sherlock studied her more intently and decided it was her expression that gave her away.  Instead of the polite interest that is normally displayed when two strangers are making small talk, this woman was gazing at John very intently, a tiny smile on her lips, like she found him fascinating.  He was lapping it up, too, telling some anecdote that was probably designed to make him look clever and Sherlock seem out of touch.  Indeed, as Sherlock finished his assessment, he began to focus in on John’s words and heard him saying, “No it’s true, he’d never heard of Connie Prince before.  He never watched crap telly.  Well, I mean now he does.”  John laughed and the client responded with a light tinkling laugh.

Sherlock closed the door with a snap and they both turned their heads towards him.  Sure enough, the woman’s mask clicked into place, although there wasn’t the usual level of defensiveness.  It was there to be sure, but he could also see that she was sizing him up.  Good luck with that, he thought.  Knowing the tells that other people have, he’s spent years perfecting the ability to be completely unreadable to all but the most perceptive (i.e. Moriarty, Mycroft, and no one else).  Meanwhile, John looked slightly guilty at first, having been caught telling a story that wasn’t flattering to Sherlock.  Then his gaze warmed as if pleased to see him, turning to resignation when he looked back at the client because now her focus was completely on Sherlock and not him.  

The woman stood and extended her hand.  “I’m Marsha Townsend.  You must be Sherlock Holmes.”  

“Obviously,” he said dryly as he turned his back on her and took his time removing his coat and scarf. When he turned back, he strolled over and finally reached out grasped her hand very lightly, then quickly let go and indicated with his hand that she should take her seat again.  She didn’t betray her annoyance with her expression, but her eyes certainly conveyed that she hadn’t appreciated being left hanging for so long with her hand sticking out.  She sat again and he went to his own chair and lowered himself with a flourish. He looked pointedly at the tea set and then over at John.  John shot out of his chair with a sheepish expression, murmuring “I’ll get you a cup,” as he hurried over to the kitchen.

When John had returned with a cup and poured some tea, Sherlock turned to the woman.  “Now then, Ms. Townsend, what brings you here?  I assume it doesn’t have to do with Connie Prince.”

Her smile dimmed slightly at his continued coldness, but she gamely held onto it.  “Of course not, she only came up because I was telling Dr. Watson which story I’d been reading from his blog that had convinced me you were the best person to help me.  ‘The Great Game’ it was called.”  She paused, but when he continued to stare at her expectantly, she cleared her throat and continued.  “Mr. Holmes, there’s a person I want investigated.  I want to know everything about her background and where she comes from.”

Sherlock eyes began to shutter with boredom.  “There are conventional ways of going about it.  This is far below my level of expertise.”

She shook her head.  “Every source I’ve tried is a dead end.  Doors are literally being slammed in my face. And I’m beginning to think that now I’m under scrutiny, like I’ve opened up a can of worms and someone didn’t like it.”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “Is this someone important?”

“Not anyone whose name you would recognize in a newspaper, or at least I’d never heard of Rachel Duncan. She’s the CEO of some Institute which I’d never heard of either.  I have no idea if DYAD has the kind of power that can block my efforts so effectively.”

“Why do you want to know more about her?”

She leaned over to pull something out of her purse.  “This is why.”  She handed him a picture.  It was her, except the hair was more expertly cut and she was wearing a very expensive tailored suit.  The expression in her eyes somehow seemed both frigid and feral.  

He looked up at her.  “Was this from before you became a stay at home mom?”

She smiled coldly.  “That’s not me.  That’s her.”

He frowned.  “Her?”

“The woman I want investigated.  Rachel Duncan.  She looks exactly like me.  I found out about her because a friend of mine was watching a press conference she was hosting and wondered how I had somehow become involved in the field of genetics.”

Sherlock frowned.  “Genetics?”

“That institute where she works, DYAD, is involved in genetics somehow.  I don’t know whether it is her or DYAD that causes the doors to slam shut, but someone out there doesn’t want me to know more.  Now they seem to want to know more about me.  I’ve been followed.  And there’s evidence of my mail and my computer being tampered with. I’m scared.  I have children and I don’t want anything to happen to them.” Her voice broke slightly.

John took the photograph and examined it.  “Wow, she really is a dead ringer for you.  Are you sure your parents didn’t put up a sibling for adoption?”

Sherlock steepled his fingers, contemplating her story. “It’s not twins, John.”

John ignored him.  “Or are your parents split up?  Maybe one of them took you and the other took her?”

Sherlock gave him an exasperated look.  “It’s not twins!  And it’s certainly not the Parent Trap.”

Marsha, her eyes shining with tears, sniffed and lifted her chin.  “Actually, I’m adopted.  That’s why I wanted to find out her background.  She really could be my twin!”

Sherlock slapped his hands down on his knees.  “It’s NEVER twins,” he bellowed.  “Look, it’s not uncommon for resemblances to occur.    You think this woman looks like you, but I’m sure it’s mostly the hair that makes you think so.  I hardly think that you two share the same DNA.”  He started to smile derisively, but the smile suddenly froze on his face. He looked at her sharply.  “DNA!  Genetics!” His eyes widened and his mouth went agape.  “Of course! Yes of course!  I wonder…I wonder if there’s any connection with Baskerville.”

John gave him a startled look.  “Baskerville? What would this have to do with Baskerville?”  Comprehension dawned.  “Wait, you don’t mean?”

Sherlock leaped out of his chair and pulled Marsha to her feet.  “We’ll take your case, Mrs. Townsend!”

She was momentarily startled, then her face lit up.  “You will?”

“Of course I will! This is no boring long lost twin drama, oh no!”  He darted over to grab his coat.

Marsha picked up her purse, her face crinkled in confusion.  “She’s not my twin?”

Sherlock opened the door to the flat, eager to be on his way.  “Of course not, do you think someone would be spying on you if it was just a matter of being separated at birth?  Think about it!  Someone who looks just like you!  Involved in an institute that specializes in genetics!  A conspiracy of secrets and retaliation!  There’s only one thing that it could be!”  He tied his scarf around his neck and strode through the doorway.  

Marsha followed after him, exasperated.  “What? What could it be?”

Sherlock quickly swung back to face her, his expression delighted.  “Clones, Mrs. Townsend!  Clones!”


End file.
